


Our last moments

by CeNedraRiva



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel Feels, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues, Castiel is Not Okay, Coda, Depression, Gen, M/M, POV Castiel, Pining, Season Finale, Season/Series 11 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:50:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6978463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeNedraRiva/pseuds/CeNedraRiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel awoke to Dean's eyes beside him, Dean's hand on his shoulder. His vessel was hollow, free from Lucifer's oppressive Grace. The Darkness was nowhere to be seen, and Chuck was sprawled across the dirty floor, Sam crouched besides him.</p><p>Something had gone terribly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our last moments

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this just after watching the s11 finale, when I was angry and upset at the lack of definitive closure within the episode. It struck me as too flat in some parts, too quick in others, and it included several instances where it seemed like TFW were acting out of character.   
> I am not upset now, since I have had time to consider everything in the finale, and now I think it works quite well. Anyway, I only mention this because I think this story was a little messy and rushed, but there you go. I still like it.

Castiel woke up, and he knew that something had gone wrong. Dean’s palm rested against his shoulder, his expression grim – at least until Castiel spoke. The flicker of relief – joy? consumed his entire being, soul included, and Castiel maybe would have focused on it for more than a second had he been able to think within the yawning emptiness within his vessel.

Lucifer was gone. Ripped out and burned up, like nothing more than an insect before a lens in bright sunlight. Castiel was once again in full command of his body. It felt wrong. Foreign, like when he had first taken a vessel. His own grace crept through his veins, filling the empty space and pressing against the living cells.

Castiel could say without a doubt that he was glad Lucifer was gone, glad he was dead. Perhaps that was in bad taste, considering Lucifer was the favourite son and his Father was dying nearby, but he couldn’t help it. Especially now that he had experienced Lucifer while acting as a vessel. He rolled his shoulders, still marvelling at the ability to move once more.

Acting as Lucifer’s vessel was all-consuming. The mass of his being had completely encompassed Castiel, excruciating pressure bearing down on him from every direction. He had been trapped in the crucible at the heart of a star, feeling as every flicker of his being evaporated before the icy fire. Glorious, beautiful, impossible light searing through him and ripping him apart. How had Sam, a simple human soul, had strength enough to fight off this, to push back Lucifer?

Honestly, he had never expected to regain control of his body. Lucifer would not have consented to be ejected from a perfectly good vessel and trapped in the Cage once more, just because their common enemy was slain. Castiel would gladly sacrifice himself if it meant Lucifer would never need to take Sam from Dean. Castiel would sacrifice himself if it meant Sam would never experience Lucifer again.

Dean was pulling him up, helping him to stand. Castiel sighed, settling more firmly into his body. Lucifer was gone. His body was his own again, with all its aches and pains and needs. He stumbled as they made their way over to Sam, Dean catching him before he’d even begun to fall.

They’d failed. It was typical of Winchester plans, at least.

* * *

 

Castiel couldn’t help but feel dissatisfied, somehow, with his conversation with Dean. Dean had acknowledged the tactical advantage of Castiel’s sacrifice, appreciated that it was a step neither he nor Sam would have taken. He’d even reaffirmed Castiel’s part as an honorary Winchester, a brother and best friend.

It wasn’t until they reached the Bunker again that he realised what was bothering him. Castiel frowned, following Dean down into the war room.

Dean wasn’t acting angry. He wasn’t upset or cantankerous or acting irrationally. It was completely incongruous to everything Castiel knew of Dean’s personality. Not once, in all the time he had known him, had Dean accepted a sacrifice so gracefully, regardless of the logic behind it or the willingness of the participant.

Something twisted within his chest.

A brother, perhaps, but not in the same way as Sam was – not of the same value. It was an unfortunate fact that Dean expressed worry primarily though anger, passion manifested in the only way Dean felt was safe to express. And there had been none for him. Would Dean have tried to rescue him from Lucifer, had they defeated Amara? Would Dean have welcomed him back, or been angry at the threat a vessel-less Lucifer posed to his brother?

Chuck glanced at him sharply, and Castiel tried to cast the thoughts away. They was irrelevant now before their new reality. Though he could do nothing about the rawness at the back of his throat, or the ache in his chest. Though, still he wanted it, Dean’s anger and attention. Some greedy part deep within him craved more, _éros_ in addition to _agápe_ and _philia_. But it was too much to hope for Dean to love him back in the same way.

He was, perhaps, the only one to notice the minute glare in Chuck’s eyes as he turned to Dean. It was appreciated, though he knew it did nothing to change his value to Dean. Now was not the time to get caught up in emotion.

* * *

 

Dean. Dean was the bomb. Dean was going to die.

He could barely process the thought circling his mind, resonating within his being. Dean’s soul would be torn apart just as surely as Amara, with no hope for resurrection. This was it.

Ahead, Dean and Sam stood before the grave of Mary Winchester, and Castiel could feel himself collapsing. Dean was going to die. It was too late to think of an alternative. Dean’s body carried their weapon.

This wasn’t a loss Castiel could survive intact, wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. As soon as he was close enough Castiel dragged Dean closer, wrapping himself around Dean in some vague attempt at denial. Surely, his life could never blink out. Not Dean. Never Dean. But even now, he could sense the power coming off Dean in waves. It was already too late.

Castiel buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, feeling Dean’s arms encircle him tightly, murmuring empty words of comfort. Please, anyone but Dean. Castiel shuddered, wishing he could draw even closer, wishing he could draw Dean’s soul within his grace, safe from the world. Safe from Amara.

What could he possibly do without him? What was an angel without purpose? Since they had met, Castiel’s every action had been for Dean, to defend him or assist him or to give him joy. He’d hidden behind the flag of humanity, of uniting Heaven, but it was all for Dean, had always been for Dean.

Castiel, the angel that follows Dean instead of the Lord. Offers his devotion, his faith and love to a mortal man. What the Hell was he supposed to do, alone?

Drawing apart, he found Dean’s eyes heavy with regret. Green eyes, soon to never be animated again. Skin to never be freckled beneath the sun again. His soul, broken and mending and so completely _necessary._

“I could go with you.” _Please, let me go with you. Don’t leave me behind._

Dean flinched. Shook his head.

“No, no, no. No, I gotta do this alone,” Dean’s voice wavered. “Listen, if…When this works, Sam…He’s going to be a mess. So look after him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Castiel’s heart sank, even as he answered affirmatively. He knew what this was, Dean’s last request, his way to make sure Castiel didn’t follow him. To make sure Castiel survived. It felt cruel, to make him promise, but what answer could he give? Of course he would look after Sam. But he doubted Sam was the one who was going to do something stupid.

Castiel’s eyes were damp.

And then Dean was gone.

* * *

 

The sky was quickly growing brighter, the Sun recovering to full strength. Bright light burned against Castiel’s retinas as he squinted up. He could barely breathe.

Dean.

Dean was gone. His mission was a success. Dean must be –

He blinked, unable to even finish the thought.

Amara was gone.

Castiel’s vision was blurry, sunlight split into thousands of glittering points.

Dean was gone.

And Castiel was alone.

 


End file.
